


The Antichrist's ABCs

by ModernWizard



Series: The Demon's Daughter [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Being Fired, Children's Books, Children's Literature, Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Goodbye Nanny's spag bol, Hecate Ashtoreth Fell, Heck the witch, Heck's first word, How Heck learned to read, It was nice knowing you, Matchmaking by ineffable doofuses, Mediocritus the personification of Heck's doubt, Moving in with parents, Other, POV Warlock Dowling, Post-Break Up, Snakes, The Antichrist's ABCs, The Infernal Alphabet, Trans Warlock, Trans Warlock Dowling, Wicca, Witchcraft, being dumped, heck, moving back home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-14 11:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard
Summary: [In which Heck is 27.]Ais forAGONY,a deep, throbbing smart...Heck the witch, formerly known as Warlock, is now twenty-seven, living with her Hellmom Crowley and her Angeldad Aziraphale after being fired, dumped, and evicted. Self-doubt, which she imagines as a demon looking suspiciously like Thaddeus J. Dowling XVI, assails her.Her ineffable parents try to cheer her up by introducing her to Chaz, a customer who needs just the kind of knowledge that Heck has. Friendship blossoms between Heck and Chaz. Later that day, Heck learns the story of The Antichrist's ABCs and other happy childhood memories.





	1. A is for AGGRAVATION

**Author's Note:**

> givinghades on Tumblr posted one of their props for a Nanny Ashtoreth cosplay: an [_Infernal Alphabet_](https://givinghades.tumblr.com/post/186866746111/givinghades-more-pages-of-the-infernal-alphabet) that they had written. (A is for Angel [most of them are gits] / B is for Bentley [the car that never quits]...) Inspired by their effort, I wrote something similar for my version of Nanny Ashtoreth: _The Antichrist's ABCs._ And of course I had to put a story around it, so here's the result.

“It all really comes down to financial security. If you can’t maintain a job, then it doesn’t matter how brilliant or charming you are. They’re just going to go somewhere better. I can see why he broke up with you. You’re twenty-seven years old, and you haven’t figured out how to use your head.”

Hecate Ashtoreth Fell the witch (formerly known as Warlock Dowling, now better known as Heck) glared at the imaginary demon. In a burst of cleverness eight years ago, she thought it would be funny to give a name and form to the doubts that always played on low volume in the background of her thoughts. Her Angeldad Aziraphale and her Hellmom Crowley supported her. Aziraphale thought it might be _ a psychologically efficacious maneuver to engage in therapeutic dialogue with a divorced part of oneself. _ He suggested names with classical allusions: _ Mendax, Dubiosus, Jejunicus. _ Crowley was more like, _ And then, if he really pissed you off, you could go all witchy on him and smite his butt! _ He, who had never liked Thaddeus J. Dowling XVI, had just one idea for a name: _ Thad the Sad. _

Anyway, from then on, Heck was periodically plagued by Mediocritus. (She herself had thought that one up.) He lived in the basement of her brain, and he had been thriving in the past six months. Of course, she really had no one else but herself to blame for that. After all, she was the one who had gotten fired, dumped, and then denied an extension of the lease on her flat due to lack of regular income.

“I’m using my head right now actually,” Heck pointed out. “I am imagining a conversation between myself and a demon of doubt who looks suspiciously like Thaddeus J. Asshole the Sixteenth.”

“You’re fantasizing," said Mediocritus with sarcastic sharpness, "which is exactly what got you dismissed from — “

“That’s it. I’m banishing your ass.” Standing and raising her arms, Heck began her incantation: 

“If you ever tell  
Hecate Ashtoreth Fell  
What to do,  
I’ll incinerate you  
And — “

_ And send you down into Hell, _ perhaps the most obvious rhyme, wouldn’t work. The place existed, of course, along with Heaven and a universe full of gods, goddesses, supernatural beings, and their dwelling places. As a Wiccan witch, however, Heck rejected Christianity, which she generally found too dead, white, and male. She followed a polytheistic faith arising from the elements — earth, air, fire, water, and _ quintessentia, _ spirit — around her. Even if Hell believed in her, it had no power over her because she didn’t believe in it.

Inspired by the Wicked Witch of the West _ (“I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!”), _ however, Heck found her last line: “And your little dog Toto as well!”

She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly and deeply, and imagined all her power coalescing inward. It created a scintillating sphere of light, as yellow as her Hellmom’s snake eyes. She held its image in her mind, then let it explode. Heat radiated from the center of blast in scorching rays of death. 

When Heck surveyed her internal landscape, there was nothing left of Mediocritus but an imaginary charcoal smudge. He’d be back — he always was — but for now she had a short reprieve.


	2. M is for MEDDLING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heck's Hellmom Nanny and Angeldad Aziraphale have just the person they want Heck to meet. Fortunately Chaz, the person that Heck is set up with, understands all about weird family members...

A smart rap on the bookcase she was leaning against startled Heck out of her thoughts. She jolted up to see her Hellmom and Angeldad peering down the bookcase aisle at her. Oh yeah, right, she was supposed to be working here in her Angeldad’s Soho bookshop. Heck ducked her head guiltily. She had never been able to lie to them. “Um, hi. I was just...not working...again.”

Heck’s parents didn’t notice. “Sweetheart!” cried Aziraphale, the Angeldad in question. He bounced his zaftig body on the tips of his toes and twitched his upturned nose in excitement. “If you’re not too busy, would you mind terribly advising a customer? We have someone here who requires just your particular type of knowledge and expertise. They’re looking for chapter books for an eleven-year-old girl who wants multidimensional maternal characters beyond the devoted, self-sacrificing stereotype. Of course, I immediately thought of you, since you did your master’s thesis on the subject, which makes you the world’s foremost expert — “

“Heck dear,” said Nanny, Heck’s Hellmom, a long curve of coolness in blackish shades of purple, “this is Chaz Stillwell. Chaz, this is my daughter Heck. I trust that you’ll mutually impress each other? Good.” She and Aziraphale disappeared. 

Heck and Chaz regarded each other for several seconds of stunned silence before breaking into nervous giggles. “Did we just get set up by — ?” Chaz trailed off. They had pale brown skin with a slight yellow undertone. An entire sky’s worth of dark brown freckles constellated across their body.

“Yes. Yes, we did.” Heck shook her head. “I’m really very sorry about that. They’ve never done anything like that before. I swear.”

“Hey,” said Chaz with a shrug, “at least they don’t do like my mom and get drunk and recite the entire family tree back to the  _ Mayflower.” _

“But my dad does read the Marquis de Sade aloud to his plants because they find it intellectually stimulating.” Heck did not elaborate that Aziraphale read de Sade only to the potted Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in his shop because thought-provoking words were what made it grow. (It also had a racy sense of humor.) 

“Oh yeah? Well, my dad wrote a three-volume history of zoning regulations in his hometown.”

“My condolences. My, uh, previous mom named me after an evil wizard: Warlock Damien Asmodeus.” 

“Wow. Damn. That’s rough.” Chaz shook their head. 

“I changed it to Hecate Ashtoreth — the goddess of witchcraft and a lust demon. Now I’m Heck the witch, formerly known as Warlock.”

“I love it! My mom thought it would be clever to name me after my ancestors: Love Deliverance. I changed it to Chastity Cyn. Well, Chastity Cynthia, but Chastity Cyn sounds better.” Chaz gave a roguishly asymmetrical smirk. 

Heck, who could never resist an expression of sly, conspiratorial intelligence, felt chills cascade down her back. “Any name is better when you choose it yourself.”

There was another pause. A thoughtful, questioning smile now hovered on Chaz’s features. Had Heck likewise seduced them with her own smirk? She couldn’t remember if she had even used it. And she certainly couldn’t deploy it now; it would look forced and creepy.

“Loath as I am to admit it,” said Chaz eventually, meeting Heck’s eyes, “I think your mom was right. I’m impressed.” The pupils of their deep brown eyes dilated, their smile deepening. Yeah, they were seduced all right, whether or not Heck had shown them her smirk.

“Uh, me too. You used  _ loath _ correctly as an adjective. I didn’t think anyone did that except my dad,” remarked Heck. After another brief silence, they were in distinct danger of being distracted by one another’s features. Heck’s face warmed up considerably. Danger! Abort flirtation! “So — you want some book recommendations?”

As Aziraphale had mentioned, Chaz was seeking books for their niece containing magical multidimensional moms. Heck recommended  _ Harriet the Spy, _ which featured Ole Golly, the titular nerdy kid’s beautiful, glamorous, and powerful nurse. Chaz wanted fantasy, so Heck volunteered Mary Poppins, adding that she was clearly a barely disguised nature goddess. Chaz was looking for something  _ more twisted, _ so Heck suggested  _ Matilda _ because of Matilda’s loving, brave, and magical teacher/adoptive mother Miss Honey. That was vetoed when the two agreed that they had bad memories of Roald Dahl’s gross-out humor.

After rejecting five more suggestions, Chaz wondered if Heck was running out of ideas. She said she was just getting started. The  _ Ms. Insilium’s Academy for the Hopeless, Wayward, and Depraved _ series, about a possibly demonic principal teaching kids how to be villains, was finally a winner. 

Heck spelled out the name of the author: Pamelah Goode. “P as in  _ pain, _ A as in  _ agony, _ M as in  _ murder, _ E as in  _ evil _ — “

“Wow.” Chaz, looking up from their phone where they were taking notes, stared at her. “Are those your words for letters? Mine were completely different. P is for  _ patrilineal, _ A is for  _ ancestor, _ M is for  _ married… _ Ugh, I’m going to turn into my dad. We should probably get out of here before that happens.” Chaz nodded sagely. “Coffee?”

“Well, I’m in the middle of my shift. —Oh, who am I kidding?” Heck threw up her hands. “They would be thrilled if I cut out to have a social life. Hellmom! Angeldad!” she called to the bookshop at large. “I’m going out for coffee to impress Chaz.” And she did.


	3. C is for COMMISERATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heck tells Nanny and Aziraphale a little bit about her time with Chaz.

“How was your afternoon, sweetheart?” Aziraphale asked Heck that evening. He drew a forkful of microwave macaroni and cheese toward his mouth, then stopped. He allowed the somewhat sweet, somewhat salty, and wholly artificial smell to enter his nose. He admired the vibrant yellow of the gluey cheese sauce. Then he placed the food in his mouth, savoring it with closed eyes and a sigh. Aziraphale loved food in the same way that he loved books. He had his preferences, but he appreciated pretty much everything in some way.

Heck and her parents were finishing supper at the small round dinner table in their Tadfield home. (It was really Heck’s parents’ cottage. She just stayed there occasionally when she needed to get back on her feet.)

“We just sat and talked for a few hours,” said Heck. She was eating baked hell apples and steamed slaughterleaf from Nanny’s garden of great Gothiness. The hell apples were crunchy and slightly peppery, with the texture of crisply fried potatoes. The slaughterleaf reminded her of beet greens, but with a metallic tinge to the taste and much redder juice. “And yes, Nanny — I was definitely impressed.” 

“As I thought,” responded Nanny, sitting gracefully straight in her chair. She had no plate before her since she had engulfed a fawn last week when she was in snake form. Her appetite would be taken care of for at least another five days.

“At the very least I think she’ll be a good friend.” Heck smiled and crunched on a bit of hell apple. “She works in Oxford too, so it’ll be good to have a social life close by.”

Not wanting to bring down the dinnertime mood, Heck didn’t mention what she and Chaz had discussed. They had talked about fathers and failure. Chaz, a public high school teacher, had failed their dad by hitting thirty without a family, lucrative career, or a deadly dull local history tome to their credit. (By the same age, their dad had already published two volumes on the history of zoning regulations in Providence, Rhode Island.) Heck had failed her former father by refusing to assume the burdens of the Dowling name, the Dowling penis, or the Dowling wealth. The two grumbled copiously about emotionally constipated dumbasses to whom they had the misfortune of being related.

After some silence, Chaz declared — almost defiantly — that they were actually doing okay. They had no interest in being rich; they wanted to do something important and good, like opening young people’s minds. Working with their students killed any desire they might have for kids of their own, and they were okay with serial monogamy at this point in their life. They were happier now than they were when they thought that imitating their dad was the only path to fulfillment. Maybe they’d failed on their dad’s terms, but, more importantly, they’d succeeded on their own.

Heck herself wasn’t ready to declare success, especially on her own terms. She had no problem, however, criticizing Thaddeus J. Asshole. She remembered too well when she was eighteen and, hopeful from her recent reunion with her Hellmom and Angeldad, willing to give the Dowling dude one more chance. She wanted to come out to him as his daughter, so she took Nanny for moral support, only to find out that he would be forty-five minutes late. She and Nanny were left with his latest girlfriend that he had secretly invited. After some initial awkwardness, the three hit it off, mutually agreeing to ditch Thaddeus J. Asshole for good. Heck had never failed her former father. Instead, he had failed her by proving that the only thing that he could consistently deliver was disappointment.

“Marvelous, simply marvelous!” Aziraphale was saying. He put down his fork and clapped once. “I’m so very pleased at how you two are getting on. I knew that they were just the sort that you would like. Obviously they have the best taste in literature and a commendable intellectual curiosity, since they chose my shop to patronize. More than that, though, they’re a reader, someone with a very active life of the mind: a perfect complement to you. Truth be told, that kind of intellectually cultivated individual is quite difficult to find in our sparsely populated rural environment.” Turning to Nanny, he said with a little bow of his head, “—Excepting, of course, me and you, my darling demoness.”

“Heh-hem.” Nanny made the noise that she always did when she wanted Aziraphale to pay attention. She leaned over and whispered to him. 

Heck knew exactly what her Hellmom was saying — that her Angeldad’s last comment had left out Heck, Anathema and Newt Pulsifer-Device, Adam, Madame Tracy, and Pepper, all former anti-Apocalypse agents living in Tadfield. (Former agents Brian, who was following a neo-folk band around the East of England, and Jeremy, who lived with his husband in Birmingham, were geographically exempted.) That happened sometimes with Aziraphale; he said things without realizing that the implications might be offensive. Having been alerted discreetly, Aziraphale gave Heck a flustered apology, which she accepted.

“As for me,” said Nanny to Heck, “I’m just relieved to have you out of the house for a while. It’s impossible for me to get any gardening done when someone’s lying around amongst my acrimonia, asking what poisons can be made of them.” 

“Well, they are flower  _ beds,” _ Heck punned with a grin. Though she had apologized to Chaz for her Hellmom and Angeldad’s set-up, she liked her parents’  <strike> interference </strike> interest in her life. They were just so enthusiastic that sometimes they became overly involved. 

Crowley in all his forms (Crowley, Nanny, and Mala the snake) and Aziraphale had worried about Heck for the past six months, since her dismissal from the library, her breakup with Jonathan, her inability to make rent, and her move from Oxford back to Tadfield. She had isolated herself, working in Aziraphale’s shop, while Mediocritus strengthened on her memories of her failures. 

No wonder her Hellmom and Angeldad had pushed her and Chaz together. They wanted her to be happy. And Heck, who had never gotten the attention from her previous parents that she really wanted, was happy that her ineffable parents cared that much.


	4. L is for LAUGHTER.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's fart jokes. The actual text of The Antichrist's ABCs. Heck's first word. Nanny's spag bol disaster. A sappy, happy ending.

“On another subject entirely, do you two remember how I learn to read?” Heck asked after dessert.

“We taught you, of course,” said Nanny, nodding between herself and Aziraphle. “Do you remember how you always wanted to follow along with us so that you could see the words? That must have reinforced the connections between the letters you saw and the words you heard.”

“You didn’t just want to be at Nanny’s side,” put in Aziraphale. “You had to be squished up in the middle, her on the left, me on the right. Once you said,  _ I’m a knowledge sandwich! _ And this personification of propriety,” he said, elbowing Nanny, “laughed so hard that she nearly fell off the sofa!”

“Those were involuntary diaphragmatic contractions, angel. Aren’t you familiar with hiccups?”

“And you were hiccupping because you were trying to swallow your giggles.” Bending toward Heck, Aziraphale whispered, his eyes flashing with glee, “It didn’t work, though. Guess what happened then?”

“Knowing you,” said Heck with an affectionate eyeball roll, “it probably had to do with burping, farting, barfing, or pissing.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, deadpan and prim. “The lady doth fart too much, methinks.” He chewed on his lower lip, through which a laugh escaped. Then he gave up and guffawed, nodding from side to side, squinching his nose, rolling his hands around one another rapidly, and generally wiggling with an excess of mirth. Aziraphale laughed with a thousand and one flutters and twitches and flaps, his entire body orchestrating motions of joy, and no one could resist joining in, not even Nanny.

Five minutes later, Heck, Aziraphale, and Nanny lay blissfully limp in their chairs. “If anyone — sees my — sense of self-control,” said Nanny, taking measured breaths so that she wouldn’t crack up, “please — let me know.”

“Oh, it’s in the bathroom,” said Aziraphale, “tooting away.” He laughed again.

“Hey! Wait a minute! Please!” said Heck. “If we laugh anymore, I’m going to sprain something. —Back to our original topic, how did I learn my letters? I was spelling out something for Chaz, and I was like,  _ P as in pain, A as in Agony…” _

“Well, I evidently couldn’t have been the one to introduce you to the alphabet with such unseemly terms, for I am a paragon of virtue.” Bracing his hands in his lap, Aziraphale elongated his spine with a punctilious twitch. “I blame your mother.” 

“Oh yes. I wrote the book.” With a click of her fingers, Nanny used her magic and withdrew a small book from the aether.

_ “The Antichrist’s ABCs!” _ Heck squealed. “Oh my gods! It’s all coming back to me now.”

Aziraphale crinkled his nose as he took the book from Nanny. “What a perfectly darling trigesimo-secundo!”

“A what?” said Heck and Nanny.

“A trigesimo-secundo — or thirty-twomo — is a book that’s one-thirty-second the size of a standard uncut piece of paper. The pages are about ten to thirteen centimeters high, just as they are in this little beauty. Who’s a pretty little thirty-twomo?” Aziraphale pressed the book to his cheek. “You are! Yes, you are!” He petted its cover, which was obsidian black with a subtle gleam.

“Okay!” said Heck, interrupting Aziraphale’s monologue to the book. “Let’s do a knowledge sandwich and read this thing.”

They moved into the living room and lined up on the couch. Heck sat in the middle, Nanny on the left, Aziraphale on the right. They took turns reading a line aloud, then passing the book to the others so that they could see the diabolically detailed woodcut illustrations. 

The text of  _ The Antichrist’s ABCs _ ran thus:

**A ** is for  **AGONY, ** a deep, throbbing smart.   
**B ** is for  **BLOOD.** Draw it from the heart.

**C** is for  **CONTROL,** which you must always keep.   
**D** is for  **DOMINATION,** a way to make others weep.

**E** is for  **EVIL,** the source of all sin.   
**F ** is for  **FRANCIS.** (Don’t listen to him!) 

**G** is for  **GOTH,** a style dark and sublime.   
**H** is for  **HELLSPAWN** – you, dearest child of mine.

**I ** is for  **IMAGINATION,** the universe of your brain.   
**J** is for  **JUBILATION** when enemies suffer pain.

**K ** is for  **KNOWLEDGE** by which you learn to see.   
**L** is for  **LISTEN.** (You listen to  _ me!) _

**M ** is for  **MURDER,** a stab to the chest.   
**N** is for  **NANNY,** who always knows best.

**O** is for  **OMENS,** rarely understood.   
**P** is for  **PAIN ** – so bad that it’s good.

**Q** is for  **QUEER,** which means “odd,” “amazing,” and “wild.”   
**R** is for  **RULER,** which you’ll be, my child.

**S** is for  **SNAKE,** who said to taste of the Tree.   
**T** is for  **TRUTH,** which set the first humans free.

**U** is for  **UNDERSTANDING,** which comes to the wise.   
**V** is for  **VENOM** to poison those you despise.

**W** is for  **WALL, ** which I have hit with this verse.   
**X** is for  **A CROSS-OUT,** a negation, a curse.

**Y** is for  **YES,** you are truly the best.   
**Z** is for  **ZZZZ** – sleep, a time of rest.

_ “W is for WALL!” _ repeated Heck, snickering. “Running out of inspiration by then, I take it?” She poked Nanny.

“Oh, it was completely gone by that point.” Nanny shook her head. “Francis,” she said, lifting her chin at Aziraphale, “wrote the last couplet.”

“Apparently you were tired too,” Heck said to Aziraphale.

“We were staying up late, hurrying to finish it for your first birthday, sweetheart,” explained Aziraphale. “You were quite the chatty child by then, so we thought we’d start you as soon as we could on the alphabet.”

“Hey…” Heck thought of another linguistic question. “Incidentally, what was my first word?”

“Well,” said Nanny, “it’s not technically a word, but your first intelligible label for something or someone was  _ Yiyi, _ which is how you say  _ Nanny _ when you can’t pronounce  _ Ns.” _

“After that, naturally,” said Azirapha le, “was  _ Vava, _ which is how someone who can’t say  _ Fs _ yet tries to say  _ Francis.” _

“So what was my first actual word?”

Nanny and Aziraphale exchanged a look, then said simultaneously, with all the amazed excitement of a kid who has just discovered a new method of communication,  _ “S’ake!” _

“Oh my gods!” cried Heck. “Of course!”

“For some time after,” continued Aziraphale, “anything of a remotely anguineous shape was a  _ s’ake, _ and you wanted to play with it all, including, but not limited to, worms, slugs, the neighbors’ cat’s tail, electrical cords, rope, string, garden hoses, shoelaces, Nanny’s necklaces, Nancy’s purse strap — “

“And, naturally,” said Nanny, absolutely deadpan, “Nanny’s spaghetti bolognese. You were picking up every single noodle and waving it around, convinced you had a plateful of new friends.” 

Wedged between her Hellmom on one side and her Angeldad on the other, Heck felt their laughter flow through her. It shook her like Aziraphale’s wiggles, breaking up any last melancholy thoughts that clung to her mind. It was an explosion, a reverberation, like the fire that she had imagined disintegrating Mediocritus. 

But this laughter was a different type of light. It spread from the inside out in a warm, shaking ripple. It was bright and yellow, full of the strength of Nanny’s eyes, but it didn’t blast and burn them. It bound them and brightened them, connecting all three with the same warm and wiggly feeling, then pulling them even closer together, making everything golden and wonderful. 

_ “G is for GOOD,” _ said Heck, improvising a new couplet,  _ “which is what I want to be. / H is for HAPPY, which I am when you’re with me.” _

Even if her previous father had failed her, Heck now had parents who loved her as she wanted to be loved. One of them was her Hellmom; the other was her Angeldad. If she grew up to embody even just a quarter of the love that constituted Crowley (collectively) and the joy that Aziraphale bore, then she looked forward to turning into her parents.


End file.
